


In the Small Moments (Ficlets & Drabbles)

by ginchy



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: AU, Canon, Christmas, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Missing Moments, New Year's Eve, Romance, Short Fics, Sweetness, mushy stuff, silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 06:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 14,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21423454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/pseuds/ginchy
Summary: I'm marking this as a space for my short fics and drabbles.  I hope you enjoy the silly and sweet romance and family moments.  I expect to add more over time as I think of moments or am prompted!1: Turnadette/Sister Bernadette; 2. Turnadette; 3. Turner Family; 4. Pupcake; 5. Turnadette; 6. Turnadette; 7. Turnadette; 8. Turner Family; 9. Timothy and Patrick; 10. Turnadette, 11. Pupcake; 12. Turnadette (from ‘Coming Home’) 13. An Anon Request on Tumblr (Turnadette and jealousy, pre-ep spec) 14. Turnadette--Sister Bernadette and Dr. Turner--for WednesdayGilfillian's birthday) 15. Turnadette (Libraries) 16. Turnadette - silly and steamy 17.  In Danger (Sister Bernadette) 18. Tempted (Dr. Turner) 19. Hold One’s Tongue (Turnadette) 20. Get a Zoom! (Modern AU, Turnadette)
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 75
Kudos: 114





	1. 100 Word Drabbles (Turnadette/Sister Bernadette)

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter's drabbles were written in 2017, some of my first CtM writing.

**From Poplar, With Love**

_Based on a little moment from episode 5x5_

He found her naked in his bed. “How did you sneak in, Ms. Turnova?”

She reached for his tie, tugged him close. “You’re an excellent GP but your reconnaissance requires finesse. I’ve trailed after you all day.”

“Perhaps I allowed you to…hoping for this outcome.” He slanted his mouth over hers.

She pulled him down onto the bed, never breaking their kiss.

“Dad, Mum?” Timothy banged on their bedroom door. “The toilet is overflowing! Angela must have thrown another toy in there earlier.”

Shelagh and Patrick froze and simultaneously groaned.

Patrick sighed in defeat. “These kids are worse than SPECTRE.”

* * *

**Specs**

_An attempt at 'modern' Turnadette._

Shelagh watched Patrick narrow his eyes at the menu. He muttered, patting at his jacket before removing a pair of black-framed glasses. He put them on, smiling tentatively at her. “Prescription. Yet another sign of my old-age.”

Shelagh blinked and tried to find her composure as she stared at him. “Watch it,” she murmured, tapping near her eye as if reminding him of her contacts.

“What do you think? Not too ‘insufferable dullard’?” His eyes glinted as he awaited her verdict.

Leaning across the table, she adjusted his glasses and grazed her thumb against his cheekbone. “I’ll show you tonight.”

* * *

**In the Mirror**

_Set post episode 1x4. *Quote from Psalm 119:37._

Sister Bernadette tossed and turned, but could not sleep. When she closed her eyes she could picture herself, without her wimple and cap, with her hair hanging free. How young she still looked; how pretty. She sat up and looked at the mirror on her dresser, imagining herself once more standing before it. An unknown longing in her heart haunted her. _Oh God_, she prayed, _turn away my eyes from looking at vanity, and revive me in Your ways*._

She settled onto the bed, resolving to ask Fred to remove the mirror in the morning. A smaller one would suffice.


	2. Not So Different (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 500 words. Turnadette cuteness/sexiness/nostalgia baiting? I think that’s the gist. Written for Valentine’s 2018 but not a Valentine fic.

“Shelagh? Are you ready?”

“Almost,” she called, packing up the last of the dipsticks to take back to the Surgery. She wiped down the counters, and opened the tap to wash her hands.

“There you are.” Patrick walked into the small staff kitchenette. The cafe took up a fair amount of room, and the nurses grumbled about the small prep and kitchen space in the Iris Knight Institute. “I almost gave you up for lost in this hall. I’m still not used to it.”

Shelagh scrubbed up past her wrists. “It doesn’t feel quite permanent yet, does it? I keep expecting to set up in the Community Center.” She rinsed the soap, and laughed. “Or the old Parish Hall.”

Patrick grinned, pulling her wet hands from under the tap. “We did have our fun there, didn’t we?” He brought one damp palm to his mouth, and brushed his lips across it. 

“Perhaps that’s what’s missing here,” Shelagh murmured, curling her fingers to stroke at his roughened chin, encouraging him closer. 

He let go of her hand and leaned in, crowding her against the counter. “_I_ can still be fun.”

Shelagh giggled, snaking her wet hands into his hair and pulling him down toward her. She rubbed her nose against his, smiling as he brought a hand to her cheek and urged her even closer. He brushed his thumb lightly across her lower lip before threading his fingers into the fine hair at her ear. Shelagh’s breath stuttered at the soft touch and she pushed up on her toes to slant her mouth against his. She clutched his neck as he parted his lips to her kiss. Tracing the tips of her fingers down his neck, she toyed with his shirt collar as their lips met, and caressed, heat growing quickly between them.

Patrick broke from her lips and trailed his mouth across her cheek to her ear, nipping at her lobe before seeking to move his lips down the line of her neck.

“This….” Shelagh panted, using her hands to still his movements, “this might be a bit too much fun for the Knight Institute, dearest.”

He pulled away and looked down at her, half pushed across the counter, tap still running in the sink. They broke out into soft laughter, and Patrick let her go, moving aside to turn off the water. He leaned against the counter and took her hand in his, holding it to his heart, suddenly serious. “The setting may change, and the years move on, but we’re in this together, Shelagh.”

Shelagh favored him with a mischievous smile as she straightened her blouse and patted her hair. “Yes, together at home, at work, and for… fun.” 

“Fun whether at home or at work?” He winked at her, as she tried not to smile. He took the box of supplies and offered her his arm. 

“Quite.” They walked through the darkened hall to the exit. “In that the Knight Institute is not so different, after all.”


	3. An Element of Fun (Turner Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Turner Family meets Mary Poppins and ginchy has more fun than she oughta have! Written in 2018, after a viewing of Mary Poppins with my daughter.

Angela skipped into the house, singing about kites and sugar. “Oh, Daddy!” She ran and threw her arms around her father, nearly upsetting Teddy from his lap. “Mary Poppins was so beautiful, Daddy! And she sang even better than Mummy!”

The hall cupboard closed and Shelagh entered the room, holding the remains of their theater treats. She handed a box of Wine Gums to Timothy as he entered the room from the kitchen. He opened it and started to eat as Angela continued to talk.

“Oh, and there was a tea party on the ceiling! And penguins! They did a funny dance like this!” Angela hopped away from her father and did a wobbly imitation of a penguin.

Patrick laughed as Teddy clapped his hands and struggled to get down to join his sister. “A successful outing, then?” He held a hand out to Shelagh. 

She took it and settled in next to him. “It was. Quite the clever film, even if the actor had an unfortunate accent. The songs and animation were wonderful.”

Angela stopped prataling to Teddy and looked to Shelagh. “Mummy, what was that word? The biggest word in the world?”

“Antidisestablishmentarianism?” Tim popped several candies into his mouth, looking proud of himself.

“Timothy!” Shelagh laughed. “No, it was another very long word…”

“Erythromycin suspension?” Patrick raised his eyebrows, moving his feet as Teddy pulled a toy soldier from under the sofa.

“Daddy!”

“That’s two words, dearest…” Shelagh’s sidelong smirk faded as her forehead lined in thought.

“It was super…” Angela trailed off into nonsense sounds. “Don’t you remember, Mummy?”

“When I was a young GP I learned the word pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.”

“Dad, you just made that up,” Timothy complained. 

“Timothy. I did not. It’s another term for silicosis.”

“That’s atrocious.”

“Yes!” Angela jumped up and down. “Remember, Mummy? It was ‘trocious!”

Shelagh stood and snapped her fingers. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

As the family laughed over the word and Angela’s dance of joy, Teddy watched his toy soldier stand and march into the toybox. Toddling after it, he stared into the box, trying and failing to snap his fingers…


	4. Starting Again (Pupcake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this as a Christmas gift for 2017's card exchange. I always loved Pupcake's little flat and wanted to give that back to them. My first time writing Patsy and Delia, but I would like to write more.

“Unpacked in time for the New Year.” Patsy dropped onto the sofa next to Delia.

Delia smiled, and handed Pasty a flute of champagne. Nestling back into Patsy’s arms, she smiled at the beautiful yellow walls of their flat. “Just in time.” They clinked glasses and sipped around smiles of joy.

Patsy pulled Delia close, nuzzling at the flare of hair at her temple. “It is quite lovely in here, Deels. But something is missing.”

“Missing? Pats, there isn’t possibly anything else I could want. I have you. We finally have our own home.” She cupped Patsy’s cheek and pulled her in for a soft kiss. “I’m so very happy, my love.”

“As am I,” Patsy murmured, stealing another kiss. She pulled away before the kiss could continue, standing and crossing the room. “But, happy as we are, something still is missing.”

“Where are you going?” Delia was bemused as Patsy walked into the kitchen. She could hear a cabinet creak open. “Are you hungry? I was going to make snacks but we were distracted—oh,” she whispered as Pasty came back into the room with a bouquet of colorful, fresh flowers in an old jug.

“It’s not the same jug from our first flat.” Patsy walked to the window and placed it on the sill. “But it’s almost as horrid as the other one. I thought you would fancy it.”

Delia blinked tears from her eyes. “I fancy the woman who bought it more.” She stood and drew Patsy into her arms, pulling her back into a kiss.

Just as their lips met fireworks, revelry, and noise-makers sounded throughout the city, marking the arrival of the New Year. For just a moment is was as if all the world celebrated the love of a couple who had finally achieved their hearts’ desires.


	5. Party for Two (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this for Kagu's birthday in 2018--she asked for Turnadette and cake.

Patrick watched as Shelagh placed a tray onto the side table next to his chair. “What’s all this?” 

Pulling a party hat from the tray, she placed it on his head, securing the band under his chin. She seemed to be hiding a smile as she answered, “It’s still your birthday for another few hours, dearest. The children are finally asleep. I thought we might continue your celebration.”

“Did you?” He gingerly touched the hat. “Must I wear this while we celebrate?”

“Yes,” she answered, placing an identical hat on her head. “It’s a party.”

“A party for two?” Patrick grinned, pulling her down onto his lap. He nuzzled at her ear and tugged at the zipper at the back of her dress. “I’m ready for my present, then. I’ve been waiting all day.”

“Have you?” Shelagh placed a hand at his jaw to encourage him closer. “As have I….” Right before their lips could meet Shelagh pulled away, giggling. She leaned forward and took the slice of cake from the tray, sitting primly on his lap and holding it before her, fork poised over the plate. “…for this cake!”

The look of shock on Patrick’s face turned into one of intent. “The slice that you had earlier didn’t satiate your appetite, Shelagh?”

Closing her lips over the utensil, Shelagh watched him as she enjoyed the bite. “No.” She took another piece of cake onto the fork. “I’m still hungry.”

“I see,” he murmured, watching her lips. “Are you going to share?”

“Should I?” She cut through the moist cake and took a slightly larger bit of cake onto the fork. 

“It is my birthday,” he pointed out, fiddling again with the zipper on her dress. 

“Very well.” She carefully fed him the bite.

When he finished he took the plate and set it back on the tray. “I don’t want anymore cake.”

“Oh?” 

“And I know that I look ridiculous in this hat.”

Shelagh giggled again. She took it off of him before sliding her hands to clutch at his braces as he pulled her zip down just slightly. She gasped before surging up to capture his mouth in the kiss she had playfully denied him earlier. His lips parted immediately and she pressed closer, cupping his face in both hands. After long moments she eased from the kiss to stand from his lap, offering her hand to him. 

He smirked up at her. “Will you keep the hat on?”

“Patrick Turner!” She smothered a smile and whispered, “I should have thought that you would want to unwrap your gift completely….” 

He growled low in his throat and pulled her into another kiss. He broke it as his hands encountered the elastic of the hat’s band. Quickly removing it, he tossed it next to his hat and the half-eaten slice of cake on the tray. Shelagh dodged him as he reached for her zipper and he followed her down the hall, laughing. Inside of their bedroom she pushed him onto the bed and smiled down at him. “Happy birthday, dearest.”

Grinning, he reached behind to finally pull her zipper completely down. “Happy Birthday to me.”


	6. One Christmas Eve (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was also written for the 2017 Christmas card exchange. Turnadette fluff at Christmas!

Shelagh lolled her head against the back of the sofa, legs tucked to her side. She closed her eyes, humming out a breath as she felt Patrick settle against her. The fireplace glowed softly, and the lights on the tree were still lit, casting the room in sparkles of light and shadow. Teddy slept quietly in his basket, Angela and Tim snug upstairs in their beds. The gifts were staged and ready for the morning’s rush, and even through a haze of sleepiness Shelagh smiled to imagine the children’s delight with their presents.

Patrick brushed his lips against her temple. “Happy Christmas,” he whispered, handing her a small jewelry box.

“A little early, isn’t it?” She gave him a teasing smile. “It’s not wrapped, so it cannot be a proposal.”

He grinned down at her. “Perhaps I ran out of wrapping paper, Mrs. Turner.” He gestured to the pile of presents under the tree. “There’s a run on paper in Poplar!”

She shook her head with a sidelong smirk, and opened the box to find a delicate band with three small stones. “Patrick—”

“It’s an anniversary band,” he cut in, sliding it onto her hand, next to her wedding band. “As today is almost as good as our anniversary…”

Shelagh pulled him into a soft kiss, her ringed hand on his face. She caressed his cheek with her thumb. “I love it. I love you.”

“I’ll never cease to be very glad that you do.” He took her hand in his, kissing softly near the ring. “It’s been some time since I slipped a ring onto your finger, Shelagh. I feel almost as if we should make vows.”

Shelagh snuggled against him, entwining their fingers. “Vows for a busy couple, perhaps? Such as, ‘I vow to never scold you when you’re late to clinic’.”

“I’ll hold you to that one! Let’s see,” he played with her fingers, thinking. “I vow to help you to relax, especially when you furrow your brow, just here.” He used his other hand to smooth his thumb over her forehead.

“I know your methods for relaxation, Dr. Turner.” Her grin showed her dimples. “I quite approve of that vow. I’ll vow to let you read The Lancet first, before I mark it up with my notes.”

“Kind of you, Nurse Turner. I vow to let you sleep as long as you want, just as soon as Teddy will accept a bottle.”

“Oh, stop it,” Shelagh moaned, nuzzling into the hollow of his neck. “You’ll have me in a swoon.”

“Ah, I must be continuing to do something right.”

Shelagh kissed his throat before pulling back to look into his eyes. “You’ve made me the happiest woman alive.” She slanted her mouth to meet his.

They kissed for long moments in the silence, before easing back into their cuddle. Patrick ran his hand through her hair as she relaxed against him. “You’ve given me so much, my love. You sleep now. I’ll keep watch.”

Shelagh looked around the room, at the play of the light over the three stockings and at her little boy, soundly sleeping. Her gaze fell to the ring on her finger and she admired the stones as they caught the twinkling lights. She nestled her head against her husband and let her heavy eyes close, feeling warm and very loved on Christmas Eve.


	7. Remedy (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for my 1 year 'turnadetteiversary' in 2018, this deals with Turnadette and sunburns in South Africa during the 2016 CS.

Patrick twitched his nose. “Stop it,” Shelagh murmured, pulling her finger back. Patrick unwrinkled his nose and looked up at her, contrite. Shelagh spread more ointment on his burnt skin. “You look like Angela when you give me false contrition.”

“It’s not fake,” he muttered, relaxing as the cool gel began to soothe him. “I could put it on myself.”

“Yet you haven’t.” Shelagh screwed the lid back onto the jar. “It’s not been easy acclimating to this sun!” She placed it on the bedside table and gathered her hair back from her neck in one hand and fanning her skin with the other. “Or this heat!”

From his seat on the bed, Patrick placed a hand on her hip to keep her from walking away. His other hand traced the line of her neck bared by her uniform. “Your skin is a little flushed.”

“Is it?” Shelagh stepped a little closer into the space between his legs. 

Patrick loosened her top button, revealing more of her reddened skin. “You might need ointment yourself. To save from blisters.”

“I suppose you’ll apply the treatment, Doctor Turner?”

“I could,” he growled, pulling her down onto his lap. 

Shelagh giggled. She placed her hand along his jaw. “I’d kiss you but your sunburnt and shiny nose is distracting me.”

He wrinkled his nose again. “Your remedy isn’t doing me any favors.” Gently removing her glasses, he pressed in close. “Better?”

She smiled against his lips. “Indeed.”


	8. A Cuddle (Turner Family)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Teddy cuteness. Written for Miss-Ute's birthday in 2019.

“Mumma!”

“What about your old Dad, then? Let’s let Mummy sleep, shall we?”

“Mumma sleepy,” Teddy said, whispering-shouting. “Mumma awake!”

Patrick laughed quietly. “Shhh…” 

Shelagh stirred in the bed, imaging Patrick with a finger to his lips and Teddy mimicking him. She feigned sleep as the bed dipped, Teddy leaning over her. 

“Shhh,” he said, patting Shelagh’s arm. He took hold of the sleeve of her gown, twisting it. “Mumma play!”

“Teddy!” 

Patrick took their son back into his arms as Shelagh turned. She looked at them, their grins as similar as their disheveled hair. “I think you wanted to wake me,” she accused, unable to keep from smiling back as Teddy crawled onto her, knees and fingers poking until he nestled at her neck. 

Kissing her cheek, Patrick settled next to them. “Only for a cuddle…”

“Oh,” Shelagh dipped her head and smiled against Teddy’s forehead, removing her hair from his pulling grasp. “We’ll have our cuddle whilst Daddy makes breakfast, won’t we?”

Teddy giggled. “Daddy make breakfast.”

Tickling Teddy’s belly, Patrick shook his head at Shelagh. “Well then, I reckon that’s me told!”


	9. Resilient (Timothy and Patrick)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the lovely and sweet Wednesdaygilfillian on her one-year fandom anniversary!! 💕💕

When the Nativity ended, the children all hopped from the stage and the parents stood. Timothy edged on his tiptoes to try and see his father. Mr. Buckle grinned as Timothy pushed by, trying to keep from catching his bow in knit sweaters. Akela’s voice sounded from behind, asking the children to form neat rows, but Timothy could tell it was of no use, and after a moment Akela seemed to realize it, too, with a barely gabbled “right-o” and instruction to find their families. She sounded relieved, Timothy thought, but forgot about Akela when his Dad’s arms caught him round the shoulders.

“Timothy!” Dad’s voice was jubilant in a way it hadn’t been for almost a year. “You were brilliant!”

“Dad!” Tim’s cheeks heated, even as his heart pounded happily. He pulled away from the embrace. “The only busy person in a Nativity is Mary,” he said, pursing his lips. “Well, and the Angel of the Lord.”

Dad shook his head. “Tim.” With a hand at his back, he started guiding them through the crowd toward the exit. “”I’m only sorry I missed the procession.”

Seeing Dad run into the room, even with his embarrassing wink, had made Timothy so light and happy that he didn’t even mind that he had been late. “If you had been earlier you would have walked in with us,” he said, grinning up at Dad. “Akela might have given you a crook!”

Dad started to laugh but stopped as he stepped from the row of seats and into the path of Sister Bernadette. 

“Oh!” she seemed startled, stepping back. 

“Forgive us, Sister,” Dad said, gesturing between a row of seats to move himself, Tim and the Sister out of the flow of traffic. “We weren’t paying attention, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, it’s no matter, Doctor,” Sister Bernadette said, faint pink splotches coloring her cheeks. Her eyes darted toward Dad before settling on Tim. She seemed to take in a deep breath before saying, “You’ve quite a touch with your violin!” Her smile brightened. “The music was lovely!”

“Thank you, Sister Bernadette,” Timothy answered, grinning widely at the compliment. It was hot among the crowd, and he reached for the dish towel to remove it from his head, but stopped himself, wondering if Sister Bernadette’s cheeks were red because she was warm and could not remove her wimple. There was a beat of awkward silence. “I thought maybe Dad wouldn’t be here on time,” he said, smiling up at the kind Sister. “But, for once, he wasn’t too late!”

“Timothy!” Dad shook his head, but his smile was fond. He reached out for Tim’s shoulder, as the Sister gently laughed. 

She opened her mouth as if to respond, but behind Timothy came a thump at the back and Jack’s loud voice saying, “Tim! Wanna ‘ave a go?” He held up his oversized candle, as if wanting to bash it into Timothy’s violin bow.

Feinting to the left, Timothy laughed as Jack lightly touched him on the head with the cardboard tube. “Hold on!” he said, setting the violin on a seat. Taking up the seat’s discarded newspaper, he rolled it into shape. Jack’s eyes lit up and he swung harder this time, the paper and tube connecting with a satisfying smack. 

The row was empty, and he and Jack battled down the lane, laughing as the newspaper began to wilt against the onslaught of blows. Timothy looked to his father, expecting to be reprimanded, but he was busy talking to the Sister. Enjoying the unexpected freedom, Tim moved between two chairs to the next row, grinning widely at Jack. “You can’t reach,” he teased, stepping closer to the adults.

Jack made a face, but Timothy’s ear caught his father speaking to Sister Bernadette. “....you were right, Sister. He is resilient.”

“Quite,” Sister Bernadette answered, and Timothy wanted to turn, to see what they were talking about. He could feel their gazes on him and the tips of his ears began to burn. 

Jack bopped him over the head with the candle, shaking him from his thoughts. He raised the bent paper to exact revenge, but lowered it as Jack’s Mum called to him and Dad’s hand once more found his shoulder. 

Calling a hasty goodbye, Jack ran off. Dad looked to Tim. “How about some fried bread?”

“Yeah!” Tim looked at the Sister, standing at the end of the row. “Happy Christmas, Sister Bernadette,” he said, sneaking the bent newspaper behind his back.

“Yes,” Dad said, a grin on his face as he lifted his hat. “Merry Christmas.”

Her answering smile was gentle. “Happy Christmas,” she answered, eyes flickering up to Dad’s before looking away toward her Sisters. 

Through the crowd’s diminishing din, Sister Monica Joan’s happy voice called to Sister Bernadette. Smiling once more before looking away, Sister Bernadette moved through the crowd and out of the door, into the night. Dad looked toward the chairs that Tim and Jack had moved during their fight, but smiled fondly, helping to reset them.

\--

The fried bread sizzled from the kitchen hob as Timothy double-checked his Christmas stocking. Dad reminded him to tidy the room, lest Father Christmas should stumble over forgotten toy aeroplanes. Rolling his eyes, Timothy removed the plane from the floor, placing it on the shelf. The heavy tomes of the  _ Oxford English Dictionary _ caught his eye, and he remembered Dad and Sister Bernadette talking. Curious, he pulled a volume from the shelf, paging to the R’s. “Resilient,” he read, “ _ Of persons, their minds, etc.: Rising readily again after being depressed; hence, cheerful, buoyant, exuberant. _ ”

Timothy paused, turning the word over in his mind. The savory scent of the bread now seemed far away, so too did the Christmas lights. Mummy’s last Christmas day was almost one year ago now. Timothy remembered bringing her a small wrapped gift, one that she could barely remove the ribbon from. But she had praised it, and him, whilst Dad had smiled, and rubbed his fingers together, a faux-cheerfulness to his voice as he brought out the Christmas biscuits.

Long days stretched after the holidays. Schoolwork was dull and home was duller. Only as the weather warmed did Timothy start to feel like himself again. Even still, nothing was the same. Dad was always late, their dinners were burnt, tempers short. Closing the book, Tim looked around the darkened sitting room, taking in the lights and the presents under the tree. In the kitchen Dad called, “Two platters of fried bread  _ and _ jam!” He looked out of the hatch at Timothy. “Shall we also have a Tizer?”

Startled, Timothy reflexively grinned. “Yeah!”

Dad ducked back into the kitchen and Timothy sat at the table, kicking his feet. Fried bread and Tizer and tomorrow was Christmas. He had been flush with happiness at the Nativity, playing with Jack, and the other Cubs and Dad, well, Dad had winked and smiled and been  _ on time _ . 

“There, then!” Dad set the platters on the table, a grin on his face. “Not one burnt!”

Laughing, Timothy took a piece of bread and smiled up at his father. Dad’s eyes were crinkled from his wide grin. He reached out to scruff with Timothy’s hair. They were happy in that moment, Timothy thought, as Dad moved away to fiddle with the record player. Soon Christmas music crooned through the flat and Timothy knew that tomorrow would be happy, too. As Dad settled at the table, Timothy held out his Tizer, and they clinked their bottles together. The brightness about Dad’s face let him know what he needed to know: Dad was resilient, too.


	10. Sugar Plums (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the 2014 Christmas Special, Shelagh is having trouble sleeping on the night before Christmas. Visions of sugar plums are dancing in her head....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the wonderful Miss-Ute, who asked for Christmas Fluff! Thank you for your wonderful gifs, videos, and friendship!!!!! <333333333 Thanks also to Teacups and Birdie who looked this over for me (and especially to Teacups who helped me nail down the idea!!!). Love y'all!! Happy Holidays!!!

The house was silent in the early hours, the gentle tick of the clock the only accompaniment to Patrick’s deep and even breaths. Shelagh turned onto her side, squinting to see the clock through the darkness. Half-four. Angela had awakened for a feeding just after midnight, but slept now, showing no signs of being ready for another meal. Patrick had warned the night before that Timothy would bound into the bedroom before sunrise, ready to open his gifts. The corridor was silent, but Shelagh strained to hear anyway, almost hoping for the sound of the door opening and Timothy’s waking call. 

Shelagh tried to close her eyes, knowing that she should try and get some sleep on this Christmas morning. Yet her heart pounded in anticipation whenever her eyes would close and so she opened them once more. She imagined the morning and how it would be, watching Timothy tear into his gifts, handing coffee off to Patrick as he rubbed at sleepy eyes, and opening the small packages for little Angela, carefully wrapped and placed into her first Christmas stocking. The two trees in the sitting room did look a bit ostentatious, but Timothy adored the silver tree, taking Angela to it often, allowing her to watch the colors play off of the bright boughs. The trees, stockings, cards, and glitter made the flat cheerful and warm, the scent of cookies and treats adding further to the festive appeal. 

Settling onto her back, Shelagh looked up at the ceiling as she thought of the breakfast to prepare, the bundle of gifts to share, the dishes to ready for the evening meal at Nonnatus… Their clothing was laid out, freshly ironed and prepared. Angela’s little white matinee jacket was atop the dresser, ready for the evening. Shelagh smiled to think of her daughter being passed around from one set of loving arms to another as they all joined together in celebration. There was much to be thankful for this Christmas, and what time she did not devote to imagining the morning she spent in thanksgiving to the Lord. Timothy was fit and well this Christmas, and dear Angela had joined their family. The first year of marriage had been marked by hardship, but remained so full of love…

Patrick’s breath deepened for a moment as he rolled in his sleep. Turning once more, Shelagh faced him, watching as he settled against the pillow. His hair fell over his forehead, and her lips curved as she reached to gently brush it from his brow. He moved his head slightly, but didn’t wake. She thought of the wrapped packages under their spruce, the gifts she had carefully chosen for him. His smile still made her heart pound, and she tried to coax it from him as often as possible. As she had picked each gift she thought only of his reaction and now, waiting for him to wake, she felt impatient, ready for their day to begin. Shifting closer, she touched the red fabric of his pyjamas, letting her fingers rest against his chest. It seemed an appropriate choice for Christmas night, and she once more let her imagination play, seeing him sat next to their tree, Angela in his arms, the fairy lights shining softly around them. Smiling, Shelagh imagined taking his hand to settle at their side, as Timothy played in front of them. “Oh, Patrick,” she whispered, the words falling from her involuntarily. 

He breathed out sharply, flexing his body as his eyes opened, blinking sleepily.

“Dearest,” she murmured, guilt at waking him creeping into her voice, “go back to sleep!”

“Is it Angela?” He strained to look past her to the slumbering baby’s basket. Rubbing a palm across one eye he asked, “Have I been called out?”

“Oh, Patrick, no. It’s silly. Go back to sleep! It’s only early.” 

Yawning, he pulled her close, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “What about you?” 

His voice was raspy from sleep and it, along with his nuzzles, sent shivers down Shelagh’s spine. Glancing her lips against his throat, she sighed and relaxed into him. “It’s nothing, Patrick.  You should sleep.”

“How early is it?” He strained up once again, looking through the darkness at the clock. His lips found her temple as he settled once more. “Tim will be at the door any moment." He ran his hand down her back, cuddling close. 

“He’s been so excited! It’s lovely to watch.” 

“He’s not the only one,” he whispered, teasingly tugging a lock of her hair before winding it around his finger. 

“Patrick,” she said, dipping her head further into the crook of his neck. “There are so many things to be thankful for.”

Humming in agreement, he absently played with the strands of her hair. “I thought last year would be our best Christmas, but this one….” His arms tightened around her.  “Happy Christmas, my love.”

Joyful tears filled her eyes, the anticipation unable to meet the reality. She blinked the wetness away, finding his lips in the darkness. “The happiest,” she breathed, pulling back and placing a hand against his roughened jaw. “I feel so very blessed.”

Turning his head, he kissed her palm. “I hope you’ll continue to feel the same after opening your gifts,” he murmured, his devilish smile felt in the stretch of his lips against her skin.

“Patrick!” She giggled quietly, stiffening as a door opened along the corridor and Tim’s sleepy voice called for them.

Burrowing into his pillow with a playful groan, Patrick reached for the bedside lamp. “Angela will be next,” he said, blinking in the light.

Timothy knocked quietly at the bedroom door. “It’s Christmas!”

Angela shifted in her basket, giving a slight whimper. “Come in, Tim,” Shelagh called, reaching for her glasses.

“I don’t want to come in! You’re supposed to come out!” 

With another exaggerated groan, Patrick stood from the bed, taking Angela’s basket in hand. He opened the bedroom door to a grinning Timothy. 

“Come on,” Tim urged, looking toward the sitting room.

Patrick laughed, turning back to Shelagh. “Ready for Christmas, darling?”

Timothy smiled at her from the doorway. In her basket, Angela’s eyes were just blinking open. Patrick’s hair was messy, his grin all the more attractive for the darkness at his jaw and the baby in his arms. “More than ready,” she said, taking up her dressing gown and joining her family to begin their Christmas Day.


	11. Christmas Wrapping (Pupcake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Pupcake Drabble as requested by 3Tons. Sweet Christmas cheer. This is only my second time really writing them. I hope y’all enjoy!

“There we are.” Patsy held up an immaculately wrapped Christmas package. “All creased, pin neat, and ready to open on Christmas morning.”

Delia smiled from across the table as she looked from the Christmas chain she was assembling. “It’s very pretty, Pats.” She cocked her head to the side. “But isn’t something missing?”

Trixie tutted, handing another strip of paper to Delia. “I hardly see why you’re taking such care in the packages at any rate, Patsy. Sister Monica Joan will tear beneath your precise folds long before Christmas morning.”

Patsy placed the precisely wrapped package onto the table. “I made certain to add a little extra Sellotape. Besides, doing a job properly doesn’t take any longer than making a mess.”

Eyes full of mirth, Trixie opened her mouth to reply but the telephone rang and she jumped up. After a moment, her clear tones were heard in a signature greeting of “Nonnatus House, Midwife speaking.”

Delia looked at Patsy and then back to the package. “I believe it’s missing a bow,” she said, eyes shifting toward the phone vestibule before looking back to Patsy’s. “There were several in the cupboard near the stairs,” she added, letting her eyes stray toward the corridor. 

“Oh?” Patsy looked at Delia, a perfect brow arched. “I didn’t know.”

“I’d be happy to go with you to carry back any boxes,” Delia offered, eyes bright and full of mischief. 

“How very kind of you—“

Patsy was cut off as Trixie sailed down the corridor. “Mrs. Smith, on Bow Road,” she said, dashing toward the stairs. “I’ll wake Barbara. She’s next on call.”

“It’s a sign,” Delia teased, as Trixie’s steps faded up the stairs.

Hiding a giggle, Patsy stood from the table, walking behind Delia to the tall cupboard doors. Delia opened the cupboard, effectively hiding them behind it in a small alcove between the door and the wall. A box of donated velvet bows sat on a shelf, but neither woman looked toward them. Patsy’s eyes darted toward the corridor, but hearing nothing, she looked to Delia. “What are you up to?”

“Just a little Christmas fun…” her words trailed off, as she looked up and into Patsy’s eyes. Leaning up on her toes, she kissed the corner of Patsy’s mouth. “Happy Christmas.”

Eyes shining, Patsy touched Delia’s face, pressing her lips to Delia’s quickly, mindful of where they were and the dangerous line they walked. “Happy Christmas,” she whispered, resting her forehead against Delia’s for one long, stolen moment. 

Footsteps on the stairs broke them apart, and Delia took up the box of bows. Her cheeks were flushed as she closed the cupboard. “A bow would look lovely on your gift!”

“Quite! Thank you, Deels!” Patsy captured a small bow before it fell from the box.

Trixie stopped at the door. “Don’t forget to finish the chains,” she called, opening the door. “Barbara will be down after a quick wash-up!”

The door closed. Alone again, the nuns at prayer, Patsy followed Delia back to the table. Delia started to take up the paper chain once more but Patsy stopped her, threading the tiny bow she held into a button hole at Delia’s collar. Delia’s fingers came up to brush the soft velvet. “Pats,” she whispered, but stopped, when Barbara entered the room.

“Oh, there is quite a lot to do! Trixie said there were loads of paper chains to make! Shall I help you, Delia….?”

Patsy moved back to her seat, keeping her head down as she sorted through the box of bows. 

“Delia—you look like a Christmas gift!” Barbra exclaimed. “The bow is lovely!”

Blushing prettily, Delia touched the decoration. “I’m feeling rather in the Christmas spirit tonight!” She glanced at Patsy.

Their eyes met and Patsy hid a smile. “I quite like the bow, too. It suits you.”

Barbara agreed, and moved on to talking about her sister’s Christmas plans. But as the evening passed, Patsy’s eyes would stray to Delia’s and they would smile, the memory of a kiss and a tiny bow a warm and secret spark between them.


	12. One Winter Morn (Turnadette from ‘Coming Home’)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Christmas, I wrote a small Christmasy drabble set in my ‘Coming Home’ AU. I thought I’d share. Set post main story but pre-epilogue, this drabble is in December 1936 when Cora Julienne is only a few weeks old. I can’t help myself—I love my AU and the characters within and miss them. I hope y’all will indulge me here and enjoy!! Thanks to Teacups, as always. Happy Holidays!!

_ December 1936 _

Quiet murmurs broke the haze of sleep that enveloped her, and Shelagh fluttered her eyes, slowly coming awake. Patrick’s warm voice was soothing as he continued his soft hum, and her lips curved at the sound of a song that he liked to sing in the dark hours before dawn. She took a deep breath and turned in the bed, wincing at the pain that arrowed down her right leg. Tensing, she released her breath, flexing the limb as she waited for the pain to pass. The quilt was heavy against her and she moved it, pushing herself up in the bed, reaching for her glasses. 

Patrick turned from the window, face dark in the half-light of the kerosene lamp. “Did we wake you, darling?” A tiny hand waved from the cocoon of blankets in his arms. “I was tryin’ to let you get a bit more shut-eye before she needed a feed.” He looked down at the baby and smiled. “You done it now, my Corie. Momma’s awake. You’ll no longer be satisfied with jus’ your ole Daddy.”

The baby snuffled in the blankets, a thin whine coming from her before she began to smack her lips together. Patrick grinned and whooped quietly. “She knows what she wants, all right!” He eased onto the bed and transferred the warm bundle to Shelagh. 

“Hello, my angel,” Shelagh whispered, kissing the baby’s wrinkled nose before encouraging her to a breast. The baby latched and Shelagh leaned back against the headboard. “It’s cold as ice, Patrick! There’ll be snow for Christmas.”

“Snow for Christmas is rare in Kentucky,” he said, gently sliding a large hand over the baby’s head. “Though not unheard of. One Christmas I delivered a baby up on Potato Knob in what I know was two-foot of snow.”

Shelagh hid a smile. “Two feet of snow?” She tried to imagine it. Her winters in Kentucky had consisted of mostly trace amounts of snow and bitter cold. She patted her leg. “I’ve it on good authority, Patrick. There will be snow.”

Patrick kissed her cheek, and ran his hand from the baby’s head to his wife’s leg. “Your legs have been a good barometer for the weather since the polio,” he mused. “I heard you gasp as you came awake. Are they paining you?”

Shelagh placed her hand over his and squeezed. “Only just. Perhaps a bit tender.”

Moving to the foot of the bed, Patrick took her right leg into his lap and began to massage the muscle. Relaxing under his skillful hands, Shelagh stroked her daughter’s downy head, feeling the warm pulse under the baby’s skin with each suckle that she took from the breast. Patrick moved his way down to Shelagh’s feet and she let out a contented breath as he eased the pain that flared up now and again since her bout with polio. Shelagh watched as her husband lifted her foot and ran his thumb over the arch. She shuddered and he looked up, dark hair flopping over his eye as he repeated the action. He was still in his vest, early morning stubble darkening his cheeks as his eyes glittered in the light of the lamp. “Cora Julienne,” Shelagh said to the baby, her eyes never leaving her husband’s, “your Daddy is being a wee bit naughty this morning.”

Patrick chuckled and kissed the top of Shelagh’s foot. “Corie, you tell your Momma that I’m nothing of the kind.”

Cora Julienne continued to suckle, unaware and unconcerned with her parents’ flirting. Patrick and Shelagh grinned at one another as he settled back against the headboard, drawing an arm around Shelagh. “Tim’ll be up soon,” he said with a yawn. “I told him I’d fix him up a hamsteak as he has an examination at school this morning. I don’t have to be to the hospital until eight.” 

“I think it’s you that wanted the hamsteak, Dr. Turner,” Shelagh said, poking his lean belly. She laughed. “Cora said she’d pop by to help me with her namesake today. I believe she’ll be here no sooner than the two of you are on the move!”

“You naming this baby for her has made her life, Shelagh.” Patrick watched as Shelagh switched the baby to the other breast. “Marrying me and making a family with me has made mine.”

Shelagh drew a light hand over her husband’s face. “Oh, Patrick.” She traced his lips with her thumb. “I love you.”

He kissed her wandering thumb before pushing up from the bed and pulling back the heavy covering to let the early morning light in. “I’d best fix that hamsteak or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He buttoned a shirt over his vest and drew up his suspenders. “After school Tim and Jack are supposed to scout out a Christmas tree. I’ll drag it home if you’ll have the popcorn ready for the decorating.”

Shelagh smiled, remembering the mess she and Timothy had made of popcorn strings the Christmas before. “We’ll be waiting.”

Patrick grinned at her from the doorway before closing the door softly. As the baby suckled Shelagh heard the unmistakeable sounds of a Kentucky morning: the rooster’s crow, the horses’ whinnies, Peanut’s bark of joy, and Tim’s shuffling feet as he woke to the scent of sizzling meat. Shelagh’s eye was drawn to the window and she watched as small flakes of snow began to fly in the breeze. Snuggling into the warm blankets, Shelagh kissed her baby and revelled in the feeling of home. 

  
  
  
  
  



	13. All's Fair in Love and Filing (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon on Tumblr asked me, "We've had a woman flirting with Dr. T this week and then in another episode we're getting some junior Dr's... how do you think Dr. T and Shelagh would react to one of them flirting with her? (a fic time?)"
> 
> So, here ya go, anon. You had to know it'd end this way. It's ME! hahahhaa!
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful fourteen-teacups for her feedback and squees and for not unfriending me when we spent 20 minutes talking about the title before I went back to the original title... *mwah!*

“It’s wonderful that you’re showing such interest in medical records, Dr. Powell!” Shelagh said, smiling at the student doctor who had agreed to shadow her for the day. “There has been a push to standardize the records,” she went on, opening a drawer in the Surgery’s filing system. “Recently, an article in the  _ British Medical Journal  _ advocated for records containing generous amounts of identifying and social data. As you’ll see with our files….” The young doctor accepted the file, sitting in one of the waiting area chairs as Shelagh gestured. 

“I can see that you already provide social data,” he said, eyes sparkling as he looked up from the card. “Are these cards your creation? They’re very thorough and easily read.”

“They are!” Shelagh’s cheeks flushed at the compliment. “I helped Doctor to set up the new Surgery when he moved from his last. My intent was to make the information quickly locatable and easy to cross-reference!”

Head tilted, Dr. Powell's smile lasted a beat longer than appropriate. “Uh,” he said, his own cheeks coloring, “did you know that there are talks of computer programmes that may revolutionize patient records?”

“I have heard,” Shelagh said, standing from her chair to move around the desk. Miss Higgins was taking an extended lunch break. She sat in the desk chair and opened a drawer. “Well, we do keep an internal number with each file…” she held up a roll of labels “... as well as the NHS number. Automation in medicine will be here before we know it!”

The young man stood from his chair, standing near the desk. “How do you generate your internal numbers?” He grinned attractively. “Was that down to you, as well?”

The Surgery door opened, admitting Nurses Franklin and Dyer, along with the other three junior doctors. “Alright, Nurse Turner,” Nurse Dyer said, smiling brightly. “We thought we’d take a tour of the Maternity ward.”

“Of course!” Shelagh clasped her hands together. “Let me check with our mothers and see that they’re prepared for visitors!”

Dr. Powell held up the file. “Nurse Turner?” He gestured to his fellow students. “Perhaps you should give an overview of the filing system, too.” He smiled apologetically. “If you’ve time, of course.” He turned to the other doctors. “It really is fascinating how Nurse Turner has readied her records for eventual computer automation.”

Trixie looked to Shelagh, barely hiding a smile. “Yes, Nurse Turner is a marvel!”

“Indeed!” Dr. Powell grinned at Shelagh.

Shelagh pressed her lips together, striding to the Maternity Home door. “Let me just--” as she spoke, the door opened and Patrick walked through.

“What’s all this?” he asked, smiling at the young men. “Come to see our Maternity Home?”

Introducing Patrick to the students, Shelagh stepped into the Maternity Home as he shook hands with the men. Ascertaining the women’s consent to bring the young doctors inside, she stepped back into the waiting area, dismayed to find Dr. Powell once more holding the file out to her. 

“I was just telling Dr. Turner how fine your system is,” he said, brash and eager. “I look forward to perhaps consulting with you one day.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he turned to Trixie. “Nurse Franklin, would you begin the tour?” 

“Of course, Dr. Turner,” Trixie said, herding the young men through. 

Dr. Powell handed the folder to Shelagh. His cheeks were ruddy as he looked at her. He smiled widely and fell in step with his fellow junior doctors. Bringing up the rear, Valerie crinkled her nose in a knowing smile at the couple left standing in the Surgery.

It was silent. Shelagh scurried to the filing system, replacing the card and tidying the shelf. She felt Patrick step behind her, and flushed, turning to look up at him. “Patrick--”

“I know a bit about medical records,” he said, voice raspy and low.

“Do you?” Shelagh was breathless. “You do have a few years more practice than Dr. Powell,” she teased.

Patrick’s brow dipped. “Dr. Powell is still wet behind the ears,” he grumped. “Fannying about with medical records for a filing system that he knows nothing about.”

Shelagh hid a grin. “Do  _ you _ know how the filing system works?”

Frowning, Patrick said, “Neither you nor Miss Higgins will let me near it!” He jerked his head to the ward doors. “Jack the Lad in there wouldn’t know an NHS number if it hit him about the face!”

Giggling quietly, Shelagh leaned toward her husband. “Do you know about NHS numbers, then?”

“I do,” he whispered, tracing his thumb against her cheek. “NHS numbers, internal serial numbers, automation…”

“Oh, Patrick,” Shelagh bit her lower lip. “You read that article I left on your desk!”

His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Doctor Jack Lad might know about automation, too,” he said, dropping an arm to her waist, “but I think you prefer a doctor with more...experience.”

Breathless once more, Shelagh dimpled. “Oh?” She rested her palm against his chest, fingering the lapel of his coat.

He pressed their lower bodies together. “One who knows what he’s doing…”

Shelagh cupped his jaw. “I do like a man who knows his way around a… filing system.”

Giggling as he grabbed her, Shelagh slanted her mouth against his.

Inside the ward, Dr. Powell looked to Nurses Dyer and Franklin. “Shall we wait for Nurse Turner?” He paused. “And the doctor?”

Nurse Dyer shook her head. “Do you know? I think they might be catching up on their filing.”


	14. First Glance (Sister Bernadette/Dr Turner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the wonderful WednesdayGilfillian's birthday!!! <3333333333 x infinity!! She asked for a prompt concerning 'summer' and I just had to take a crack at writing about Sister Bernadette's first real notice of Dr. Turner.... (this puts me in mind of my own 3-shot fic, The Difference, in time-frame and mood). I hope you enjoy, lovely lady. I have so loved becoming your friend over this past year!!! *mwah!*

The warm evening tempts Sister Bernadette from her bike. An early morning birth followed by hours of Clinic and a home visit have set a crick to her neck. She dismounts, easing her head from side to side as she begins to walk. A cool breeze ruffles her wimple and she closes her eyes to enjoy the feel of it over her face and forearms. The Parish Hall had been too warm, bodies and summer heat casting a stickiness over late afternoon appointments. It was nice to slow for a moment, to enjoy the wind and sounds of the Poplar evening—men calling to one another, women singing as they take down the wash, children playing at stickball and marbles. 

Here and there, patients call cheerful hellos, and she answers, smiling softly in kind. She should make haste for home, but the sky is darkening with evening pinks and golds. Never one to tarry, she finds that she wishes to do so now. It feels important to take in the sky, the chatter, the warm wind, and the scents of the pavement and simmering suppers. Summer had passed in the blink of an eye and there was every reason to suspect that the coming autumn would do the same, the constant cycle of birth and healing blending one day into another. And so she slows her walk, taking in the familiar and the dear, shoulders relaxing until the tense muscle abates. 

Turning the corner to Nonnatus House, she startles, pausing mid-step. Backed into the alley is Dr. Turner’s green MG. The doctor leans against the vehicle’s hood, feet crossed as the car bears his weight. He is no longer wearing his coat. His waistcoat strains slightly at his waist, the sleeves of his oxford rolled to his elbows. The waistcoat is missing a button. At Clinic she had taken note of the frayed string where the button had once been, stooped with an ear to a pinard as Doctor walked into the cubical. It had given her pause, though she had quickly pushed the thought from her mind. Yet now, here he stood, eyes closed as he enjoys the warm wind, hair loosened from Brylcreem to curl about his face. She has never seen him in such an unguarded moment and she flushes, taking a step back so as not to intrude. 

“Sister?”

Cheeks pinkening at the sound of his voice, she looks to find that he is watching her, a tired smile pushing up his lined cheeks. Caught, she walks toward him, dipping her head as she nears. “Forgive me, Doctor. I only wished to leave you to your thoughts.”

His smile is wry. “No real thoughts,” he says, looking up into the darkening sky. “It’s the first warm evening that I haven’t any place to be. Tim’s with Jack Smith’s family and I…”

He trails off, but she knows what he will not say. His flat is empty. Silent. 

The thought to invite him to tea pops immediately to mind. She opens her mouth, but stops herself. There has been no time to ask Sister Julienne for permission, and though the elder sister would welcome the doctor warmly, it was not correct to invite first and ask later. 

After a beat, he continues. “...dropped off some patient notes for Sister Julienne’s approval.”

“I’m certain that was much appreciated,” she replies, smiling gently. “Now you shall have your evening free!”

“I thought to return to the hospital, catch up on reading. There was a fascinating article in  _ The Lancet _ a few Saturdays back, describing the need for more and better managed maternity homes.” He pauses. “In fact, I’ve a thought to open my own.”

“Wonderful!” Sister Bernadette grins. “You’ve worked so hard at the Maternity Hospital and deserve to go out on your own!” 

His smile is proud, but reserved. “Thank you, Sister. I’ve written plans and made inquiries. There are many things to consider.”

As he speaks, she notices a spark in him that has been missing. She is glad to see it return. Her joy for him makes the warm evening even happier. “Quite. With the slated demolitions we have been uncertain of our future in Poplar.”

“As was I, for a time,” he says, looking once more to the sky. “But this is the right place for me and Tim.” 

Church bells toll. “Is it gone eight already?” Dr. Turner looks to his watch. “I’ve kept you too long, Sister. I apologize.”

“Not at all, Doctor,” Sister Bernadette replies, the smile on her face still evident. “I’m always happy to hear such lovely news.”

“Thank you. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, too. “You’re very kind.” He pushes off from the automobile. “I’ll be off, then. Goodnight, Sister.” He grins at her before taking to the driver’s seat and pulling away. 

Standing still in the middle of the drive, Sister Bernadette watches him go before walking to the shed. She parks her bike and takes up her bag, remembering Dr. Turner’s smile. Her heart beats happily in her chest. She is excited as she climbs the stairs, full of the joyous news. At the door she stops, realizing that she is still grinning. Her cheeks are flushed as she turns to look out into the darkening evening, imagining the doctor at his cluttered desk in the maternity hospital. His waistcoat’s missing button crosses her mind, but she shakes it away, knowing there is little she can do about it. She would offer her support, the idea of a maternity home run by Dr. Turner seeming the answer to an unasked question for she, her Sisters, and Poplar. Taking a deep breath, she slowly exhales, resolving to pray for the doctor and his future endeavor. 


	15. In the Stacks  (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for my dear friend WednesdayGilfillian, this is a silly take on Turnadette in a library. To my mind it is set somewhere mid-series 5. Just fun and fluff and smooches, exactly what I need during this strange time. Written very quickly, so any mistakes are my own. As a librarian myself, I feel for Miss Dawes, having to keep an eye on her stacks. ;) Thanks to Weds and Teacups for looking this over! Enjoy!!

“There’s something so correct about a library.” Shelagh smiled around the room at heavy wooden furniture and drapes. “Though I’ve never been to one quite so large!” She spoke quietly but her eyes were shining behind her lenses. 

“It is grand,” Patrick agreed, placing a hand at the small of her back as they entered into the reading room. “I think I could stay occupied quite happily here!” Small shelves of reference books lined the walls and long tables with covered lamps filled the room. “In medical school I often enjoyed sitting for an afternoon in the library, reading the classics of medicine.”

“Oh!” Shelagh dimpled. “Were the books still chained to the carrels, then?”

Patrick grinned and cut his eyes to Shelagh. “Hush, you!” He continued to grin as they stepped toward the librarian’s desk, but straightened his face as the librarian glared at him.

Next to him, Shelagh stood straighter, offering a polite nod. “Miss Dawes? I’m Shelagh Turner, and this is my husband, Dr. Patrick Turner. I called earlier to inquire as to accessing your stacks for research?”

“Quite.” Miss Dawes continued to frown as she indicated a clipboard and chained pen. “Sign in, please.” The telephone rang and she moved to answer it.

Shelagh pressed her lips together as Patrick picked up the pen. “Not a word,” he murmured, signing the register and failing to keep a smile from his lips.

“Signing in?” A sweet voice piped up. A second librarian took up the clipboard and smiled. “This all seems in order. Do you know how to reach the open stacks?” At their negative response the young librarian explained the library’s layout and what materials they may take with them into the stacks. “Do find one of us if you have any questions,” she said, gently replacing the clipboard. 

“Thank you,” Shelagh answered as they stepped away. Miss Dawes replaced the telephone receiver and watched them go before sitting back at her seat.

“Marian the Librarian, she’s not,” Patrick murmured, grinning once more in response to Shelagh’s smile. “Right,” he said, pausing at the entrance to the stacks. “After you!”

It was quieter in the stacks, the rows of tomes muffling the sound of their feet on the tile. Shelagh looked at a map guide on one of the shelves and navigated them through the narrow stacks. “What volume did James mention?”

“He said it was volume 132,” Patrick answered, running his fingers over the journal spines. “Ah, here it is!” He tucked it under his arm and then also removed a second volume. “The supplementary materials.” He looked down the row. “Are we finished? We can take them back out before the librarian comes in here after us. She seems suspicious of our motives.”

Shelagh giggled quietly. “Oh, Patrick, she wasn’t suspicious of us. I think perhaps we were..a wee bit too loud in our approach!” She glanced around and lowered her voice further. “We  _ are  _ in a library, after all!”

Leaning against the shelf, Patrick smirked. “Perhaps her suspicion is due to less than scholarly activities that sometimes happen in libraries.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Shelagh leaned in. “Tearing pages from the volumes?”

Amused, Patrick mimicked her pose. “Possibly, but I heard from other lads at medical school, well…” He paused, looking once more down the empty row. “The library is rather private and so they might bring a pretty study partner with them, and…” Patrick raised his eyebrows.

Scandalized, Shelagh’s voice raised. “In the stacks!”

“Shhhh,” Patrick laughed, placing a finger to his lips. “I only ever heard of it,” he admitted. “James wasn’t the prettiest of study partners.”

“Oh, Patrick,” Shelagh ducked her head, before looking up with a grin. “Being chained to the desk didn’t help, either.”

“That’s possibly part of the reason they were kept chained for so long!”

They laughed quietly, but Shelagh sobered. “I never would have thought to use the library as a place to...” she ducked her head once more. “Well, kiss.”

“No kisses behind the card catalog at nursing school?” Patrick moved closer. 

“None,” Shelagh said, looking into his eyes. “I spent my time at my studies.”

“As did I.” He shifted the books in his arms. “I never used a darkened corner for more than thumbing through an index…”

“I can imagine,” she said, slightly breathless. “Nose buried in a book, sleeves rolled along your arms just so…” Cheeks pink, she placed a hand against his forearm.

“Perhaps I was waiting for a beautiful and studious nursing student to be my--” he paused, letting his gaze fall to her lips. “Study partner.” He slid the books back onto the shelf.

“What would we study?” Shelagh inched her fingers up his arm to his shoulder. 

“Not our books,” Patrick whispered, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Shelagh?”

In answer, Shelagh pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips against his. Pressing against him, she slid her hand from his shoulder to his jaw. She pulled back just slightly to catch her breath as one of Patrick’s hands fell to her waist and the other moved to cup the back of her head. His lips slanted against hers as she met his kiss, parting her lips to accept him. 

His fingers teased against the silk of her blouse. Breaking from the kiss, he ran his lips down the delicate skin of her throat before burying his face into the soft skin at her neck. Breathless, he touched his lips to her ear. “Are you taking notes?”

Shelagh gasped and moved her hand to his chest, tugging at his tie. “I’ve already studied for this exam,” she murmured, tugging him back into a kiss.

Voices at the entrance to the stacks doused their growing passion. Shelagh pulled back with a startled “Oh!” Her lips were damp from their kisses as she scrambled to pull herself back to order.

Patrick groaned quietly, closing his eyes as he attempted to calm himself. “I never knew the library to be this stimulating,” he laughed after a moment, opening his eyes.

“Patrick!” Shelagh ducked her head. “Gosh, we should go before we prove the librarian’s suspicions!”

She started to take up the journals she intended to read, but Patrick stopped her. His eyes glittered. “Thank you for being my... study partner,” he said, taking the books from her and squeezing her hand.

Shelagh grinned. “Oh, Patrick.”

“Now,” he said, arranging the books in his arms, “I’ll do something else I never did in medical school.” He looked down at her curious glance. “Carry my girl’s books,” he explained.

Gently pressing her head to his shoulder, Shelagh beamed. “Shall we leave?”

“We’ll need to get past Miss Dawes first,” he teased, stepping back into the reading room. 

Miss Dawes looked up from the clipboard as they approached, accepting the journals and slipping due date cards into the back pockets. She seemed to be sizing them up as she checked the books out to Patrick’s card. “Please remember to return the books promptly,” she said, sliding them across the desk. “Use of the open stacks is a privilege.” 

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” Patrick said, taking the books back in hand. 

Shelagh echoed the sentiment as Miss Dawes nodded, as if pleased with their understanding. 

As they began to walk away, a lock of hair fell loose from Shelagh’s chignon. “Oh!” She flushed as she attempted to put it back into place. 

“Dr. Turner!” Miss Dawes’s voice rang out over the room. “Dr. Turner!”

Shelagh’s face burned as she tried to fix her hair before the librarian reached them.

Miss Dawes stopped, eyes narrowing as she watched Shelagh drop her hands. “Your library card,” she said, holding the forgotten card out to Patrick.

“Oh! Thank you, Miss Dawes.”

Watching them a moment longer, the librarian shook her head and walked away with a huff. 

Outside of the library, Shelagh looked to Patrick and said, “Do you think she suspects?”

“She let us leave with the books,” Patrick pointed out.

“Still…”

“I think it more likely she was concerned with the journals, not our time in the stacks, my love.”

Shelagh’s face reddened once more. “I cannot believe we—”. 

“Spent our time studying?” Patrick took her hand.

“Patrick!” Shelagh pressed her lips together to hide a smile. 

The MG was parked on the street. Patrick placed the journals into the back seat and held the door open for Shelagh before getting behind the wheel.

Glancing out of the window to make sure they were not being observed, Shelagh slid across the seat. “We spent our time studying, but…. I’m not certain the research is complete,” she said, gently touching Patrick’s thigh before removing her hand and settling back into her seat.

“But darling,” he said, pulling into traffic. “We don’t have a home library.” He glanced at her and winked. “Though I’m certain we could find a darkened corner…”

Eyes meeting briefly, they giggled together, driving on into the London evening.


	16. Brace Yourself (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a silly little steamy drabble.... Patrick’s 60s wardrobe sees him wearing slim suits and a belt. After speaking with the usual suspects about how much we missed his braces, well, this happened. Enjoy!! And thanks to the gals that inspired it—you know who you are!!! ;)

Her dress is halfway unzipped when he steps into the bedroom. He closes the door and settles into an armchair, removing his shoes. Looking up, he smiles into a breath, eyes darkening as she lets the dress drop. He reaches for the button at his collar, but she stops him, easing into his lap, taking over the job. 

Her name leaves his lips as she places a kiss at his throat. His voice still sends a thrill through her. She stands and turns to settle again, this time nestling his thighs between her knees. His hand skims her back and she hums out a pleasured breath, body awakening to his light touch. He lifts his head for a kiss, but she quietly giggles and teases, placing instead cool kisses along his jaw. Heat grows between them as she plays, but soon he becomes impatient, using his wandering hand to cup the back of her neck to pull her into a kiss.

Ready for him, she slants her mouth against his, a tiny moan and helpless thrust of her hips begging him to continue. His hands are everywhere, at her back and breast, sliding into her hair and falling to her thighs, grasping to encourage her to move against him. 

Her own fingers tingle at the evening stubble at his jaw and trace their way to his shoulders, clutching as he pushes their lower bodies together. She moans into his mouth and lets her hands wander, needing to remove the barriers between them. And yet, her fingers continue to drift the line of his broad shoulder, looking for…. She pulls back, breathless. “I’d forgotten,” she murmurs, plucking at the fabric of his shirt. 

“What is it?” He is dazed, lips darkened from their kisses. 

“No more braces,” she says, tracing an imaginary brace down his dress shirt. 

His chuckle is deep, flirty. “I’ve something else for you to remove.” He looks between their bodies as her hands travel to tap the buckle of his belt.

Her smile is bold as she begins to work the belt free. “Quite.”


	17. In Danger (Sister Bernadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sister Bernadette notices that the doctor is late to clinic. Companion piece to chapter 18 “Tempted”

The doctor was late to Clinic. Nurse Miller efficiently checked patients in as the wait grew longer, directing those not in need of doctor’s care to curtained off couches and waiting midwives. It was Clinic as usual, busy and loud. In the kitchen, Sister Bernadette washed her hands, careful of the just healing wound on her palm. The clench in her stomach tightened with each passing moment and jumped at the sound of the streamers being parted at the door. Her breath caught as she looked up, but it was only Nurse Lee, pinched lipped as she set up a urine sample. 

“Sister,” Nurse Lee said, a few moments later. “Is everything quite alright?” The girl looked to the running water and then at Sister Bernadette’s hands, no longer in the stream.

Barely able to keep from snatching her hands back, Sister Bernadette instead continued to wash for a moment, before closing the tap. “Yes, Nurse,” she said, affecting her most authoritative tone. “My personal habits should be of little concern when you have work to complete.”

The young nurse’s eyebrows raised fractionally. “Yes, Sister,” she said, looking back to the sample.

Sister Bernadette left the kitchen, shame twisting her stomach into tighter knots. Nurse Lee was only being kind, but Sister Bernadette was riled, her pulse racing each time the clinic doors opened. 

The duty roster gave her a name to call, but the words stuck in her throat as the doors opened and that familiar, raspy voice began apologies as to his belated arrival.

He moved swiftly past the intake desk, a hint of cigarettes and Brylcreem following. The clench in her stomach tensed once more and a throb of pain bade her to remove her clenched fingers from the wound over which had been placed an illicit kiss. 

Heart racing, she realized her fervent prayers had not yet been answered. 

She was in danger still .


	18. Tempted (Dr. Turner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Turner is late to clinic. (Companion piece to chapter 17 “In Danger”)

He purposefully engaged in conversation with Mr. Jones, knowing the elderly man would have plenty to say. The home visit could have been short. The complaint was the same as always, symptoms vague enough to be worrisome, but broad enough that Patrick suspected loneliness rather than an actual malady. Clinic started promptly at two. There was time to make it still, to be punctual, if not a minute or so early. And yet Patrick stalled, asking after Mr. Jones’s neighbors, containing a sigh of relief when the old man began to talk, eager for the unexpected gift of a listening ear.

Shame gnawed at the pit of Patrick’s stomach as Mr. Jones’s face became more animated, but a greater shame had tugged at him the entire week. 

Sister Bernadette would be at Clinic. 

The week since the fete had passed quickly, an uptick in patients complaining of late summer colds keeping him occupied. Nurse Miller had called him to a breech birth at the Bow Road tenement, but otherwise, he had seen neither midwife nor nun since the Baby Show. It was just as well, he knew. He and the Sister needed time apart. One moment he felt that he should seek her out, apologize again, and in the very next breath he felt as if he should avoid Sister Bernadette completely, letting his impetuous action in the Parish Hall kitchen fall into little more than a forgotten memory. 

It galled him that he had acted so foolishly in taking her hand and kissing her palm. He winced to think of the kiss as forceful, even as she had attempted to smooth the situation by saying that she did not turn away because of him.  Months of confusion and dawning realization had rejuvenated and excited him. But the longing looks, the hint of breathlessness in Sister Bernadette’s voice when she spoke—those moments had been all in his head, colored by his growing admiration.  He should never have tried to interpret her feelings and now he was left with the thought that he had caused a colleague pain. 

“...ought to keep those nippers quiet, the lot of them!” Mr. Jones looked at him with wide eyes, expecting him to agree.

“The sound does carry.” Patrick took up his medical bag, clasping the case, as a crash sounded from the flat next door.

Mr. Jones grumbled. “Knew you’d understand, Doc.” He settled into his chair by the window. “Sorry to keep you so late. Prop the door open when you leave, eh? Mrs. Stills will be bringing me tea.”

With a smile Patrick left, nodding to Mrs. Stills in the corridor as she shuffled past with a covered plate. Being late was now unavoidable, but he paused to light a cigarette for his drive. Yet even the nicotine did little to calm him. His stomach bunched as he neared the Hall. Standing outside of the MG, he tossed the cigarette and stubbed it, taking deep breaths. He and Sister Bernadette were professionals. He had taken a chance and with her rejection he would move on. She was in no way to blame and did not need to know how badly he had been burned by the spark he’d felt between them.

Squaring his shoulders, he entered the bustling clinic, only to have his eyes alight immediately on the Sister. She was looking over the duty roster, afternoon sunlight glinting off her glasses. Her gaze turned in his direction but he did not allow his eyes to meet hers. His heart thudded dully as he tossed out an excuse for being late. 

A queue of patients awaited him and so he stepped into the fray, willing himself to remember his acceptance of her rejection. 

And not to dwell on the temptation that lingered still in his heart. 


	19. Hold One’s Tongue  (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick always has a hard time with not thinking about work.... Set after the chalkboard contraceptive talk in 5x7
> 
> I was looking around Tumblr one day and there was an OTP kiss prompt list. One was ‘To Shut Them Up”.... here’s my take. 
> 
> Very much my favorite thing—medical dorks in love. 😍

There was chalk on his waistcoat. Just a smudge, transferred as he buttoned his coat, probably. The coat now hung over his desk chair and his shirtsleeves were pulled back. Their talk of contraceptives at Nonnatus had gone well, but he was still full of adrenaline, pacing his office floor with a hand to his chin. 

“Perhaps I should have gone over more clearly the side effects,” he said, walking past the door. “You made mention the possible gastrointestinal effects, but I only glanced over the studies on carcinogenic factors.” 

He wasn’t looking for an answer and so she did not provide one, watching instead as he ran a hand through his hair. “Though I don’t suppose that would change minds. It’s recreational intercourse that seems to be the concern, as if that weren’t already happening in the district.” His face fell for a moment but then he began to pace once more, the set of his jaw determined. “We’ll need Nonnatus’s support, of course. The nurses seemed keen, but it’ll take more than a handful of us to really push into the community, to provide the public health message we want to give.” 

“We made a start tonight,” Shelagh agreed. 

Eyes brightening, he turned toward his desk, opening a drawer to root through the contents. “Our talk was informative and succinct, though I could go on a bit about a topic of such vital importance…” he trailed off, taking files from the drawer and opening a folder. “I had a pamphlet I wanted to show you. One of the drug salesmen left it with me. It might help in forming our counseling discussions...” He fell silent again as he began to skim the document. 

His passion for his work and their patients was clear in every line of his body. At Nonnatus, standing before the chalkboard with him, she had been so proud, flush with the pleasure of standing at his side. She could not keep her eyes from him, attracted to his knowledge and intensity. Her enjoyment in listening to him speak on medical topics was not new. More than once, still in the habit, she had lingered as he would talk on this malady or that, sometimes speaking up to share her own knowledge. After they married she found that he would often ask her opinion on an illness or condition, and the way his eyes would glitter as he listened, and offered his own takes, made her stomach clench. 

Looking at him now, she admired the strength of his shoulders and the rapt attention on his face as he read through the file. He glanced up with a smile, lowering the folder as he plucked out a thin sheet of paper.

“Ah, here it is!” He started reading a passage, but Shelagh was no longer listening. He certainly would go on all night if she did not intervene, and though she enjoyed the conversation, new thoughts were coming to mind. Her eyes caught once more on the smudge of chalk. He continued to read, a particular paragraph catching his attention as he stopped to examine it further. Recognizing her moment, Shelagh stood and walked to him. 

Glancing up from the paper, he gave a distracted half-smile. “I’m sorry, I was caught by the author’s use of social data—Shelagh?” His eyes widened as she took the pamphlet and placed it on his desk. “What’s all—”

His question was silenced as she pushed up on her toes and slanted her mouth against his, locking her hands behind his neck. He stiffened, surprise dulling his response. Softening her lips, Shelagh pressed against him until his lips parted under her bold invitation. Shelagh gasped into the kiss as he drew her closer, resting one hand against her lower back, the other cupping the base of her neck.

A hint of his evening stubble scraped at her skin. The softness of his mouth soothed her lips, desire leading her to clutch him closer. A tiny moan fell helplessly between them as he began to pull back. “No,” she whispered, not finished with him. She could feel him smile against her lips before he surrendered once more to her kiss. 

Long moments later, she pulled away as the sound of the orderly’s tea cart rumbled through the hall past the office. 

Patrick caught his breath, smiling down at her. “What’s all this?” he asked, finishing his earlier question.

With a soft sigh, Shelagh walked her fingers over his waistcoat, gently rubbing at the chalk. His eyes glinted as he watched her. He did not seem to realize how such ordinary moments so enticed her. That was her secret to keep. Hiding a smile, she pushed up to kiss his chin. “Does a wife need a reason to kiss her husband?” Turning away, she took up his suit jacket and gave it to him. “Nurse Crane will soon be here for night shift. We need to prepare for handover.”

Accepting his jacket, Patrick looked around the office, bemused. “What were we—ah,” he said, taking up the pamphlet. “Weren’t we—“ he shook his head. “Never mind.” With a hand once more to the small of her back, he led her toward the door. “I must say, Mrs. Turner,” he murmured, stilling his hand on the doorknob and leaning in close to her ear. “You’ve quite a way of helping me to ‘hold my tongue’.”


	20. Get a Zoom! (Turnadette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU. During the pandemic, Shelagh and Patrick end up together in a Zoom break-out room during a meeting with their colleagues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on Miss-Ute’s wonderful photo gifset: https://miss-ute.tumblr.com/post/632887009930838016 😍 Thanks for the inspiration!! The title came from a joke by comedian @ivograham. Couldn’t resist. Thank you to the wonderful Fourteen-Teacups for help with the title and shaping the fic when I stalled out. It’s always so much fun to work with you--thank you!!! 💕💕💕 Not very accurate to actual medical protocols, probably, but I did take a peek at some UK hospital websites and their Covid measures.

“And….” Phyllis bent close to her camera. “I think that’s most of us present. Thank you for joining the meeting so early at the weekend. For those of you in Clinic, I’d like to give special thanks for taking on double-duty.” 

Microphone muted, Shelagh nonetheless smiled at Barbara and Trixie as they nodded in appreciation of Phyllis’s words. The early morning appeared quiet behind the two nurses, but Shelagh knew that could, and probably would, change with the ringing of the telephone announcing an in-coming patient. On-call, Shelagh knew that she herself might be tapped to join in a delivery at any moment. Generally their meetings were held on-site but the new Coronavirus restrictions made simple gatherings too great a risk. As it was, Shelagh didn’t mind speaking with her co-workers whilst still cozy at home, feet in thick socks and a mug of tea steaming at her desk. 

“Our conversation will be somewhat informal,” Phyllis continued, looking up from a clipboard. “As you’re all aware, recent restrictions have prevented the offering of our usual antenatal classes and clinic and birthing room tours. Whilst the pandemic may continue to drag ever on, pregnancies will not stop.” She pursed her lips. “In fact, we may be in for a boom some months from now! I wanted to bring us all together so that we might discuss moving our antenatal training onto an online format with the possibility of a secondary form of education for those lacking in reliable internet access.”

Shelagh opened her diary, adding to the notes she had taken the day before when the meeting’s agenda had arrived in her email inbox. Early education was often key for the women they treated, not only in giving them tips for their pregnancy but in building trust and confidence in their nurses and midwives. 

“Dr. Turner, thank you for joining,” Phyllis said, as a new box appeared at the top of the screen. “I trust you read our agenda.”

The doctor smiled apologetically. “Good morning, Phyllis, all. Yes, I’ve read the agenda. I apologize for my lateness, but a nervous father rang just as the meeting commenced.” He adjusted his microphone headset. “All taken care of,” he said, referring to his call. “I’m happy to be part of this session. Our Nurse Midwives provide sterling education opportunities for our patients, and I can’t help but think that with Zoom that list of educational opportunities is now somewhat limitless.”

“Best not to get ahead of ourselves, but you’re right to look at this as an opportunity, Doctor! Right, then.” Phyllis once more bent close to her screen, fiddling with her computer. “I’ve recently learned about Zoom’s breakout rooms. In my view, smaller groups might allow for more relaxed conversation! We’ll meet in our groups for twenty minutes. Each group has been assigned a Google Document to add their notes, questions, and concerns. When we come back together we shall discuss this topic further! I’m going to push this button to randomize groups and hope to see you all on the other side!” 

The screen turned black as the breakouts were sorted. 

The text box on the screen counted down. A moment later, Shelagh blinked to see that she was in a breakout room with the doctor. 

“Ah, hello,” he said, grinning. “Only us, then, Nurse?”

His smile always made her heart skip a beat, but she pressed her lips together so as not to let him know the effect he had on her. “I think so,” she offered, eyes sliding to the participant boxes at the top of the screen. “Unless someone else should pop in late.”

“I think everyone was accounted for,” he said, taking a pair of glasses from his desk and sliding them on. “Have you thought much about which classes might translate easiest to an online format?”

Of course he would wear his glasses, Shelagh thought idly, watching as he tucked back a stray hair that fell over his eyes as he read his own notes. The doctor seemed to know how to charm her, even as he was unaware of how his actions affected her. “I have,” she answered, after a beat too long passed. She held up her diary of notes. “I believe that some classes need only be filmed once and viewed at a patient’s convenience. Diet and Pregnancy, Emotional Well Being, and Clinic Tours,” she said, marking each off on her list. “Those will have little change over the course of the next few months and questions, if any, can be sent to a specific email address. Other classes should be live-streamed so as to provide on-the-spot answers and support to mothers, especially first-timers.”

The doctor’s eyes were sparkling when Shelagh finished. She ducked her head, pleased. 

“You’ve done your homework,” he said, exhaling on a smile that felt warm even through the computer screen. 

“Always,” she said, beaming with quiet pride before clearing her throat. “Have you other thoughts on this particular need?”

He was smiling and startled, flipping through the papers on his desk. “Forgive me, Nurse,” he said, fiddling with a pencil. “My mind was momentarily...elsewhere.” 

His tone made her cheeks flush pinker, though she tried to hide it by taking a sip of her hot tea. He continued on to speak of his own ideas for the live-streams, wondering how they may be divided amongst the staff. 

For her part, Shelagh watched him talk. It was a habit she had fallen into some years before, watching the animated way he would speak about medicine and their patients. It was attractive to her, and though she suspected he knew, it was unspoken between them. At times his eyes would linger a little too long when she spoke, and so she  surmised the feeling was mutual. Yet their respect for one another, their work, and their coworkers kept them from sharing their feelings in the workplace. It was just as well, Shelagh knew. One slip and they would be unable to work together as well as they did now, each anticipating the other as if two parts of one whole.

In this setting, however, alone in the break-out room, Shelagh felt somewhat bolder than if they were standing together in the reception of their office. Surreptitiously checking to be certain the break-out room wasn’t being recorded, Shelagh waited until he finished to favor the doctor with a smile she saved only for him. 

He seemed to melt under the smile, shoulders relaxing with an exhale of his breath. Shaking his head as his own smile widened, he murmured, “Nurse?”

“Earlier, when you said that your mind wandered…. What were you thinking about?”

She hid a grin to see color rise in his cheeks. Her heart began to pound and she leaned closer to her monitor.

“Well,” he rubbed at his chin. “I was distracted--”

“By me?” 

He seemed to lean closer into his own screen, dropping his voice. “Yes,” he agreed. 

Shelagh was breathless, meeting and tea forgotten. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

“Have you?” His voice was soft, intimate. 

But she was caught by his eyes, not dulled by the camera, but rather glittering in that attractive way that first drew her notice so many years before. “I have,” she said softly, her mind now the one to wander at the tone of his voice and that look in his eye. 

“I’ve missed our hurried conversations between patients and tea breaks in the afternoon.”  His face was so open to her, his emotion plain for her to see.

“Oh,” she murmured. “So have I.” The air felt thick, even with screens separating them. Attempting to break the tension, she released an amused puff of air. “ Tea and talk is very much missed, though perhaps not our less than adequate Clinic kitchen...” As soon as she said the words, she stilled.  Her eyes locked with his  as she remembered once standing in that kitchen,  taken by his gaze.

“Shelagh--”

Behind him, the bedroom door slammed open, a tiny whirlwind squealing as he entered the room and climbed onto the doctor’s lap. The doctor grunted, trying to contain the little one as he began to bang on the keyboard. “Son!”

The little boy stopped  his thump ing as he heard laughter from the monitor in front of him. “Mumma!” he shouted, leaning toward the computer. “Mumma here!” He patted the screen.

Shelagh couldn’t stop laughing, at the look on Patrick’s face, at their son’s chubby hands on the camera, at her own jump of surprise as their quiet moment had been interrupted. 

“So much for our alone time!” Patrick’s tone was grumpy, but he hugged his son close. 

“Later,”  Shelagh teased. 

“ Promise?” 

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, the kind of smile she had fallen in love with those many years before. She thought of the long weeks they had all been locked down, leaving home only to work and for necessities.  The change to their schedule had been grueling. So much of their lives together were spent at work, and though they always remained professional, she, too, missed the small moments of crossing paths in the corridor, and impromptu tea breaks.  Quarantine’s sudden changes brought on  small tensions and no end to their worry, but through it all they had managed to keep their happy home and carve out time together that had been all too rare before their lives were given pause. 

“Promise,” she echoed. 

Patrick began to grin, but before he could respond he quickly grabbed busy little hands. “No, no Teddy.” The toddler was grabbing at anything he could reach, waving around Patrick’s phone.

Shelagh began to giggle again, but stopped with an “Oh!” A countdown timer flashed across their screens, giving three minutes until their session would end.  “As your hands are full, I’ll write up our notes… skipping these last few moments…”

Patrick wriggled his eyebrows as  he quickly folded a sheet of paper into a frog. “I don’t know. It could liven up Phyllis’s meeting minutes!”  He held up the origami, laughing as Teddy released the phone to grab it. He began to make ribbiting noises. 

“Keep right as you are. I’ll…” Shelagh paused, typing into her Google Document. “There!” 

“Mumma!” Teddy’s eyes widened as she left the screen. “Mumma gone!” He turned his head to look up at his father.

“Mumma’s coming to sit with us, old man.” He kissed the top of the toddler’s head.

“Teddy!” Shelagh walked into the room, accepting him with a grunt as he stood on Patrick’s lap and launched himself at her. 

On the screen the last few seconds of the breakout counted down. Teddy threw his frog into the air as the Zoom reconnected with the main meeting. “Hi!” He shouted his greeting and clapped his hands together as the nurses began to greet him. 

“Baby in the meeting?” Phyllis raised her brows, but didn’t seem upset as she, too, offered greetings to the youngest Turner. 

“He offered an alternative perspective,” Patrick joked, retrieving the frog for his son. “And the other three are still sleeping!”

“What a family picture you make,” Barbara said, smiling at the baby. “Hi, Teddy!” 

Teddy waved his frog, thrilled with his new audience.

Barbara laughed before sobering. “Seeing you makes me think of our families. Now that only a mother and her partner can attend Clinic I miss the babies, grandmums, and aunties that used to pile into the waiting area!”

“We all do, Barbara,” Phyllis said, her voice gentler than usual. “But that is why we carry on! We’ll look to our notes and soldier through!” She slid her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “Dr. Turner, Nurse Turner, I suppose you’ll continue to share a screen?”

“Oh!” Shelagh smiled, though her cheeks were pink. “I think so!”

But before she could say anything more, a new face showed up on the camera still running at Shelagh’s desk.

“Oh! Oh, sorry!” Timothy said, looking into the camera.  His brow furrowed. “Mum? Why are you and Dad and Teddy on that camera, if this one is still connected?”

“Will Angela and May join us next?” Phyllis tapped her pencil on her clipboard.

“We apologize, Nurse Crane.” Patrick looked at Tim through the Zoom screen. “Your Mum came in here because Teddy came to join me.”

“And they all had an adorable cuddle,” Trixie teased, winking at Timothy.

“Ugh. Again?  Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll save you .” Tim rolled his eyes before giving the amused nurses a smile. “ After that, why don’t you tell them,”  he jerked his head toward his parents , “to ‘get a zoom’?”

-end

  
  



End file.
